by C. L. Taylor
‘He wasn’t in a ditch.’ Her dad’s laugh sounds too loud, as though he’s dialled it too high. ‘He was off with some bird. Find her on Tinder, did you?’
‘Yeah.’ He nods, his eyes not leaving Chloe’s face. He’s sending her a message. There’s something unsaid behind his steady gaze, but she’s not sure what it is. Another lie probably.
‘You wanted me to get you some tea?’ she says, looking at her dad.
‘Fuck tea!’ He laughs again. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Get us some beers from the fridge. Bollocks.’ He taps his pockets. ‘I’m out of fags. Mike,’ he points across the room as he stands up. ‘Do not move a muscle. If you go missing again I’ll come after you and shove you in a ditch myself! Chloe, get the man a beer.’
The second the front door slams behind Alan Meadows, Mike stands up and crosses the living room. ‘Chloe, I’ve missed you so—’
‘No.’ She takes a step back into the hall, her hands raised.
‘Hey,’ Mike pauses, stunned by her reaction. ‘I know you’re angry with me but it’s not true, what your dad said. I wasn’t with another woman. I can’t tell you where I was but—’
‘I needed you.’ Chloe’s throat is so tight she can barely speak. ‘And you didn’t come. I waited for hours.’
‘I would have been there … if I could have, I swear I would have …’ He reaches for her, his expression pained. ‘Chloe, you’ve got no idea what I’ve been through the last few days but I’m back now and—’
‘Were you with her?’
‘What?’
‘That woman. The skinny one with the long brown hair?’
Mike’s expression changes in an instant. He gawps at her, his eyes wide and uncomprehending, then he swallows and shakes his head. ‘What? Who?’
But it’s too late. His reaction just told Chloe everything she needed to know. He was with her – the woman who’d given her the diary– the original love of his life. It was all there in black and white – how they met, how they fell in love, how they had sex, how they planned to run away together. She didn’t refer to him by name but it wasn’t hard to work out that M was Mike. So many of the things he told Chloe were there, scribbled in the other woman’s untidy handwriting, many of them the exact same phrases:
I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.
I was so unhappy until I met you.
You don’t know how beautiful you are.
You understand me.
It’s killing me, the way I feel about you.
I should walk away but I can’t.
I love you. We’re soulmates. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.
I would give up everything to be with you.
You’re special in a way other girls aren’t.
They all stung, but the last was the worst. She’d felt so special. Out of all the women in the world that Mike could have fallen in love with he’d fallen in love with her – a thirteen-year-old girl with a lumpy body and a ton of insecurities. There were other women at Greensleeves who fancied him, she’d heard them talking in the staffroom, but he wasn’t interested in them. It was her he wanted. Her that gave him sleepless nights because of their age difference. He’d risk the ridicule of his friends and family to be with her. He’d give up everything to be with her, run away with her, start a new life with her and she … she’d believed him …
What a stupid, fat, ugly, naïve, waste of space she was.
‘What is it?’ Mike says now, his hands dropping to his sides. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘I know.’
‘What do you know?’
‘Everything.’ She glances up the stairs as a shadow stripes across the landing. Is Jamie listening to their conversation?
‘I don’t understand what you mean.’
‘I know about her. And you.’
‘What?’ He shakes his head, uncomprehending. ‘What about … I … I don’t know what she’s told you, but I guarantee it’s lies. What is it she’s told you, Chloe?’
She laughs lightly. ‘You’ll just deny it if I tell you.’
‘I’ll tell you the truth.’
‘No you won’t. You’ll tell me what you think I want to hear. Just like you told her.’
‘Chloe, please! I don’t know what she’s told you but she’s poison. And she’s a liar. She’s jealous of our happiness and she’s trying to turn you against me.’ He reaches for her hands again. This time she slaps them away.
‘Don’t touch me!’
‘Chloe!’ Mike lunges for her, reaching for her shoulders but, before he can make contact, Chloe raises her right hand and slaps him hard across the face.
He recoils, temporarily stunned, then lunges for her again, his hand reaching for her throat. As he does, the front door flies open and her dad appears, brandishing a packet of cigarettes and a blue plastic bag filled with more beers.
‘Hello, hello. What have I missed?’
Chapter 39
Lou
It takes me three attempts to sit up and, when I finally manage it, I have to dip my head to stop the room from spinning. I must have passed out when I tried to stand up. I’ve got no idea how long I was unconscious for but my broken arm is throbbing so badly I feel sick. It’s dark in the barn but I can hear the faintest birdsong from beyond the door. It’s morning then. I’ve got to get out. If Mike managed to get to Chloe last night they could be anywhere by now.
Gritting my teeth, I twist onto my hands and knees and crawl, one-handed, across the cage to the door. Mike was in here for a long time. If he couldn’t escape, what hope do I have? I turn and scan the floor, walls and ceiling for something, anything I can use to get out. That’s when I see it, the Diet Coke can lying amongst the straw. It all comes rushing back in an instant – me entering the barn convinced that Mike was already dead, seeing him lying still in a pool of vomit. Was he asleep when I first saw him? I was so sure I’d find him dead I didn’t think to check. At some point he must have woken up, then, when I opened the padlock, he stayed very, very still. He was breathing, I just chose not to believe it.
But none of that explains where the Diet Coke can came from. I crawl back across the cage and pick it up. It’s empty, save a couple of tiny drops that I pour into the palm of my hand. I touch a droplet to my tongue. Where did it come from? It wasn’t in the cage when I locked Mike in and he didn’t have it on him. The only way it could have got in here was if someone gave it to him. But who? And why didn’t they let him out? Any normal person would have rung the police and they’d have turned up by now.
I stumble back to the door and shake it. As I do, something small and silvery, nestled in the straw catches my eye. The key! Mike couldn’t see it when he crouched down to search, but I can. It’s too far away for me to grab, even if I press myself up against the cage. I need something to draw it closer. Bucket? Brick? Straw? I look down. My belt! The buckle is made of a cheap metal but it’s solid. If I hold the other end and throw the buckle towards the key the weight might pin it to the floor. Then all I have to do is drag it towards me.
I unbuckle my belt as quickly as I can but it’s tricky and painful, with one arm in plaster. When it finally comes free, I slip the leather from the loops of my jeans, then crouch down. I gather the belt in my hand with the end tucked beneath three of my fingers and the buckle between my forefinger and thumb, then I throw it.
Clunk! The buckle lands three inches short of the key. I haul it back and refold the belt. This time I don’t tuck quite so much of the leather under my fingers and, when I reach my arm through the bars, I press into them with my shoulder. Three, two, one … throw! The second the buckle leaves my fingers I realise something is wrong but it’s too late – I’ve let go. The belt flies from my hands and lands, curled in an S shape, on the straw outside the cage. Shit. Shit. I jam my arm through the bars but my fingers only graze the very edge of the belt. I lie on my good side and press my weight into the bars, forcing my shoulder up against the metal. My mi
ddle finger touches the belt. Nearly … nearly. I grit my teeth and push harder. Now I’m able to dig my fingernail into the soft leather. Come on. I hold my breath as I slowly, carefully, retract my arm. The belt shifts the tiniest bit then stops, caught on a piece of straw. I jab my fingernail back into it and try again. This time the belt slides a couple of inches towards me before it gets stuck again—
A noise in the yard outside makes me start. I don’t know if it’s footsteps, a bird or something else, but I don’t wait to find out. I push my whole weight against the cage, grit my teeth against the burning pain in my shoulder and grab at the belt. I bend two fingers over it and yank my arm back. As I do, one wall of the barn shudders. Someone’s pulling on the door handle outside. I shove the belt under my legs and pull myself up into a sitting position. A second later Mike walks in.
I scoot back on my bum as he walks up to the cage. Clang! The whole thing shakes as he slams the palms of his hands against the bars. I can smell the stench of stale booze on him from here.
‘What did you tell her?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know … I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Chloe! What did you tell her?’
‘I didn’t tell her anything.’
‘Look at me when I’m talking to you!’
I raise my gaze from the ground. The key’s gone. It should be about half a metre from where he’s standing but it’s disappeared. He must have knocked it with his foot when he walked in.
‘Mike I … I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Liar.’ His top lip curls, revealing his teeth. ‘She knows about us. What did you tell her?’
Fuck. The diary. Chloe’s read it. She was supposed to tell someone what was happening to her, or go to the police. Not confront Mike. Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl.
‘Let me go,’ I say. ‘Let me go and I’ll … I’ll talk to her … I’ll put things right. She’ll listen to me. She’ll—’
He laughs, a rough grunt of a sound, and slowly shakes his head. ‘I think you’ve done quite enough already, don’t you? See these?’ He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two phones. One of them’s mine. He must have taken it when he stole my car keys. ‘You know, you really should use a passcode rather than a pattern, Louise. All I had to do was look at it under the light and I could see the greasy L shape. Ben,’ he says, before I can comment, ‘that’s your boyfriend’s name, isn’t it? He’s very concerned about you, Lou. He sent you a text saying he tried to call your landline last night and you didn’t reply. His dad got through his operation okay though, so that’s good, isn’t it?’
A cold shiver runs through me. Please don’t let Ben show up unannounced again. ‘Mike—’
He holds up a hand. ‘No need to thank me.’
‘For what?’
‘Putting him out of his misery.’
‘What?’
He laughs at my distress. ‘I didn’t kill him, you stupid bitch. I sent him a text. From you. Poor Ben, I think he was quite upset to be dumped so unceremoniously. Especially with his dad being ill and everything, but he wished you a nice life.’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘No you—’
‘And your work were okay about you resigning. Ian, isn’t it? Your boss? He left a voicemail saying he wanted a chat about your ill health and your return to work. I … well … you … texted him to say you wouldn’t be coming back. He wasn’t surprised, although you’ve rather landed him in the shit, Louise.’
‘Mike—’
‘What else, what else …’ He stares up at the ceiling. ‘Oh yes. Your Facebook friends are all horribly jealous that you’ve decided to spend the next year travelling the world.’
‘No. You can’t have done that. I haven’t got—’
‘Wi-Fi? 4G? I know. Annoying isn’t it? But your phone works in Malvern, which is where I’ve just come from.’
‘You can’t do this. Someone will come looking for me. No one’s going to believe that I’d just up and leave without …’ I tail off. I upped and left London without any fanfare. Only a handful of people knew and those I didn’t tell found out on Facebook. Alice might be a bit put out that I didn’t ring and tell her I was going travelling but it could be ages until she starts to worry. And she might not worry at all if Mike posts regular updates from my phone. I could be dead within three days and no one would know.
Mike steps away from the door, crosses his arms over his chest and looks me up and down. ‘Right, well I think that’s it. Don’t you worry about Chloe, I’ll talk my way back into her good books and then we’ll go on a lovely trip together. Now, is there anything I’m forgetting? Oh yes. Where’s my fucking van?’
‘If I tell you will you let me out?’
‘What do you think?’ He walks to the door, pauses and looks back. ‘When I come back you’re going to tell me where the van is. If you don’t I’ll get the hose out. And I’ll stick it down your fucking throat.’
I wait for the door to close, then I scrabble to the front of the cage, praying that, somehow, he kicked the key within reaching distance. It takes me a while to spot it. It’s almost completely covered in straw. And it’s next to the back wall. Even if my belt was double the length I still wouldn’t be able to reach it.
Chapter 40
Wendy
Wendy Harrison used to have a lot of respect for the police, back before Mike was arrested, then there was all that nonsense around her own arrest. Now she finds them to be small-minded busybodies who assume everyone they arrest are absolute thickies. Take DS Hope for instance. Before she turned on the tape recorder she was all smiles and chat and ‘would you like some water?’ Now she’s stony-faced and reading from a long list of questions on the clipboard in her hands. What was the buttering up for? To make Wendy think she’d made a new friend? To prise a confession out of her? Wendy has nothing to confess because she wasn’t doing anything wrong. Unless taking a stroll has suddenly become illegal? Something she’s asked every police officer, including the custody sergeant, since she was brought in.
She was interviewed at length by DS Hope last night (she replied ‘no comment’ to every question) and was then told she would be held overnight pending further questioning. And now it’s begun again.
‘When was the last time you saw your ex-husband Michael Hughes?’
‘No comment.’
‘Why were you walking down his street last night?’
‘No comment.’
‘It was a cold evening. Why weren’t you wearing a coat?’
‘No comment.’
She’s aware that answering no comment makes her look guilty. She’s seen enough episodes of 24 Hours in Police Custody to know that it’s a popular tactic with criminals and liars but, quite frankly, she hasn’t got the time or the patience to answer the younger woman’s ridiculous list of questions. She knows what she’s trying to do – pin Mike’s disappearance on her – but she’s not going to find any evidence to support that and, without any evidence, she’ll have to release her without charge.
There was a brief moment, yesterday evening, when she considered telling the younger woman that there was no point questioning her about the disappearance of her ex-husband because she knew exactly where he was. She swiftly dismissed the thought. If the police released Mike from his cage she would instantly lose out on her forty thousand pounds. Of course, she still had Mike’s phone hidden away in her jacket pocket beneath the driver’s seat of her Ford Mondeo (assuming the police had bought her story that she’d gone to his house on foot and hadn’t found the car) but there was no guarantee he’d give her the money for the phone’s safe return if he wasn’t behind bars. In fact, she was fairly certain that he wouldn’t. She’d have to blackmail him to stand any chance of getting her money and, given Mike’s temper, that would be a very risky move indeed.
‘Did you break into Michael Hughes’s house?’
‘Michael Hughes’.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Michael Hughes’ house. Not Hughes’s. Your grammar is incorrect.’
The police officer’s lips thinned. ‘Did you break into his house?’
‘No comment.’
‘Did you throw a pair of bolt cutters and a key under his hedge on your way out?’
‘No comment.’
‘If you didn’t break into his house why were you running down the street?’
‘No comment.’
‘Do you know where Michael Hughes is?’
‘No comment.’
‘You don’t like your ex-husband, do you?’
‘No comment.’
On and on it goes. At one point Wendy sits back in her chair and sighs.
‘I’m sorry,’ DS Hope says. ‘Am I boring you?’
Wendy glances at her solicitor, a lovely lady called Carole Dickinson, and smiles. ‘No comment.’
Wendy glances over her shoulder, just to check that no one is following her, then hastens her pace as she hurries down the street. Ten minutes ago, the duty sergeant handed her her things, told her that she had been charged with breaking the terms of her restraining order and was being released on bail pending further investigations. He handed her a card with the date that she should return to the police station, asked her to sign something on a computer tablet and then said goodbye. Wendy thanked him, straight-faced and serious, but inside she was smirking. She hadn’t expected to be charged with her ex-husband’s disappearance but she had been the tiniest bit concerned that she might get attempted burglary. She’d worn gloves, there wouldn’t be any prints on the bolt cutters, or the front door key, and she’d ensured she’d locked all the doors as she’d left, but she was fairly certain the next-door neighbour had seen her lurking about. Why else would the police have turned up?
Still, no time to worry about that now. There’s the small matter of her ex-husband being kidnapped by Louise Wandsworth to deal with. And she’s going to have to drive to B&Q to buy some bolt cutters. That’s assuming she isn’t followed to her car.
Nearly thirty pounds for bolt cutters! Wendy tucks the receipt back into the plastic bag, then reaches below the passenger seat for the coat. When she left the police station and returned to her car, everything was still inside, exactly where she’d left it. DS Hope had asked her why she was in the area and how she’d got to Mike’s house, but she obviously hadn’t sent a PC to see where Wendy’s car was. She’d have found Mike’s phone in her coat pocket if she had. And the knife. How very remiss of her.